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Tirien's Story

My original tale was horrible so I rewrote it into this.

"Damn!" Tirien fell to his knees and clutched his side, looking up at the dark cloaked figure before him.

"Heh. You're bleeding." Beneath the hood Tirien saw those two yellow eyes peering mockingly down at him, complemented by a cruel smile full of sharp white teeth. He could feel those eyes cutting into him, tempting him, promising him release from pain under the condition of servitude. Blood was pooling rapidly at his side.

Tirien winced the effort it took to speak. "...Stop it."

The wicked teeth grinned wider. "What's wrong? Are you afraid of your own longing for release? Freedom from concern and worry? You can't tell me that the idea does not draw you in- I have seen your thoughts. I know how much you wish to abandon responsibility for your actions."

Tirien closed his eyes tightly as voices pushed back into sorrowful memory returned to him again.

"You murderer!" Tirien grunted as a boot flew into his stomach. "How could you do that to him, you monster!?" Tirien was surrounded by a group of angry, familiar faces. Tirien coughed up blood and looked over his shoulder. There, just a few feet behind him, his best friend lay face down in the dirt. He rested in a pool of blood and his shirt and skin were shredded with deep cuts. Tirien's eyes widened just before he received a kick to the face. "How could you do that to Ridley!?"

Tirien looked down at his right hand. It held a simple looking cardboard tube he had found in the mountains earlier that day. It had been laying in the dirt just off the path, amid crushed grass and leaves, as though there had been a minor struggle there. When he had come down the mountain, discovered tube in hand, he thought he'd heard footsteps behind him, but upon inspection found nobody.

When he reached his hometown, Vanel, he remembered seeing his best friend, Ridley, running to him, shouting "Where the hell have you been, man?"

As Ridley neared, the tube in Tirien's hand had become cold as ice. Suddenly, Ridley's existence became horribly annoying to Tirien. The tube flickered and burst into freezing fire, and then...

"Why did you do that to my son, you b*****d!" With another kick Tirien was sent sprawling on his back. His vision left him as his head thudded on the ground.

In his hand, the tube pulsed.

Ridley's father, followed by a majority of the small village's population, glared down at Tirien. Overtaken by emotion, he raised his boot high above Tirien's neck, and brought it down.

Ridley's father screamed out in pain as Tirien guided the fiery tube through the man's thigh, severing his leg completely. Losing his balance, he toppled forward over Tirien and was quickly sliced in half. Tirien rolled out of the body's way as it fell apart and crashed to the ground.

He stood slowly, meeting the gaze of the speechless villagers. Tomo, his prize student at his Tiger's Blade Dojo, stared at him with wide eyes. Behind young Tomo was Aria, Ridley's heart-throb, standing stricken with shock, tears running down her face. Tirien swept his gaze over the small crowd, and felt the cold fire of the Tube dance up along his arm. It felt good. It was intoxicating. Through the pleasure the Tube gave him, he felt promises for more, greater pleasure. And Tirien lusted for it.

He surrendered his will to the Tube.

Charging forward into the crowd, the Tube found its way through dear family and dearer friends. Tirien was quickly covered in blood, but he did not stop. Some tried to fight back or begged for the lives of loved ones, but Tirien could not hear their pleas, only their delicious screams of pain and horror. Soon he found himself before Tomo, who stood in a basic guard stance, wooden training sword in hand.

"Stop it, Master! This isn't you! Look at what you're doing!" Tomo's voice was racked with sobs, and the boy's entire body was quivering. Tirien hesitated.

Tears soaked Tomo's face. "Master Tirien... please... st-"

Tomo's body fell to the ground, soon joined by his decapitated head. It seemed to freeze Tomo's sorrow in time, and it gazed up at Tirien woefully. He looked down at it and was frozen by its innocence, but only for a moment.

In minutes the entire village was slaughtered. With no lives nearby, the fire receded back down his arm, and the Tube dimmed. Tirien blinked and looked at the bodies littering the ground, he smelled the stench of blood, and in his mind the screams of all those he cared about echoed constantly, pounding into his head. He fell to the ground in tears.

---------

After that incident, Tirien had vowed to never touch the Tube again, and to protect it from anybody who might try to weild it. After spending many long, horrible hours burying those he had slaughtered, he wrapped the Tube in cloth and tied it so that it would not slip off. Pushing back the pain with little success, he entered the village library to seek knowledge on the horrible tube. He had no apettite and fought his overwhelming fatigue as he searched for what seemed an eternity through the surprisingly extensive collection of tattered books and scrolls that Vanel had acquired over the many years.

Hours later he finally found something. He pulled a thick, dust covered volume from a shelf in the back, titled "Chronicles of the Cardboard Tube Samurai: Cardboard and Steel."

He sat down and opened the book to its table of contents. There were chapters on the first Tube's origin, on the first Cardboard Tube Samurai, many histories of the more notable weidlers of the Tube, and even some chapters filled with information on the magical imbuement of elements into cardboard weapons. He didn't take the time to read those chapters, for when he saw the title of the last, he could not help but to turn there: "The Dark Vagrant."

He spent the rest of the night reading the chapter, and while he had not read the earlier chapters, he was able to discern from the the text that at one point there was an order of Cardboard Tube Samurai whom crafted the mythical Tubes for the pure of heart who wished to weild them, though none of their creations could be equaled by the original. Their wisdom had been great, but there was one member whom always pestered the others to imbue Nothingness into a Tube. Knowing that such a Tube would be evil, the rest of the order always refused- for the power of all six members was required to imbue a Tube with an element. The dissenting member, Varias, remained silent on the matter for awhile, apparently defeated. However, one night he ventured out into the wilderness, silently pilfering the Holy Tubes of the council. There he proceeded to conduct the Imbuement ritual, attempting to use the Tubes without their proper weilders. He placed a simple tube upon arcane symbols he had drawn in a patch of sand, and chanted in a tongue forgotten by the world. Apparently, as the ritual commenced, he discovered that he was indeed not strong enough to do it alone, but it had alreayd been started. Energies poured from the Holy Tube into the receiver, but with none else to weild them, they drained Varias's power alone. The symbols written in the sand glowed with an icy blue light that somehow created the image of a cold, dark void. Varias was sure to die, but the ritual had been completed. He clutched the now-imbued Tube, and it flared to life. It offered Varias an escape from death, promising happiness through servitude, and he eagerly accepted.

Tirien read on to discover that Varias had slaughtered the rest of the Order that night with the Dark Tube. Varias named it "Endless Shining Night of Alaskan Village," and had not been seen since. Tirien learned that there were rumors of a cloaked man weilding a weapon that seemed to negate existence around it, and it was assumed that this was Varias, still living after hundreds of years, undoubtedly kept alive by the dark powers of the Tube. It was told that this man had slaughtered towns and cities- places much larger than Veral- with impunity. Long after the age of the Cardboard Tube Samurai, some still spoke of him, but in nothing above a whisper for fear that he would appear as though he were an agent from the underworld.

Tirien read the rest of the history, studying the places of the reported sightings and the sites of bloodshed, but he still could not discern the slightest idea of where Varias was hiding.

He resolved to find out.

Setting out from his empty village with his sword in hand, Tirien spent a number of years searching for information, the Endless Shining Night of Alaskan Village tucked away and wrapped within his brown travelling cloak. He visited the sites of Varias's carnage, small towns like his own, and giant cities seeking answers- seeking the location of the Dark Vagrant. His sorrow over his bloody sin never left him and occasionally brought him to his knees with pain, but he always found the resolve to push it back and continue his search.

When Tirien had left Veral, he was twenty-three. When he returned, he was twenty-nine.

Tirien slowly walked along the empty buldings of his past. He looked over his shoulder at the field of wooden crosses where his friends and family lay, then turned forward agian, stepping onto the dais in the middle of Veral.

"VARIAS!" Tirien looked around him and marked every alleyway in his memory. He thought he saw a shadow shift to his left, and there stood a man with his face concealed beneath a dark hood. The man's cloak shimmered eerily, and wherever the light caught on a wind-brushed fold, it flashed an icy blue before fading to black again. He stopped up onto the dais and approached Tirien.

"Ah, I see you found my Tube."

A strange cold pulsed against Tirien's side beneath his cloak. He had never abandoned it, but during his travels he had acquired some light armor, easy to move in. He had also fought many highwaymen and wild animals- his skill with a sword was deadly.

Varias held out his hand. "Have you come to return it?" A malicious smile crept across his dark face, and his eyes flashed hungrily. The way his hand reached out and uncurled made Tirien think of a skeleton, animated by some dark incantation, reaching out and commanding that its life be returned to him. There was something in the man's eyes that seemed to be trying to convince Tirien that it must be done.

Tirien shook his head and drew his sword. "Varias, I have come to exact justice upon you. You shall die for all the souls you've unrightfully laid claim to- you shall die for making me slay my friends!" Tirien assumed a ready stance, kneeling with his sword above his head and his other hand forward.

Varias laughed. "Making you? I made you do nothing, boy! You wanted to kill them!"

Tirien seethed, and charged at Varias in rage. The man's dark cloak shimmered eerily and suddenly he was behind Tirien. Tirien's eyes widened as he felt cold steel then warm blood along his right side and he rolled onto the groun, spinning around to meet his dark opponent.

Tirien struggled to his feet but stumbled to his knees again. "Damn!" His adversary's weapon had cut him deep.

"Heh. You're bleeding."

When Tiriens' eyes met those of Varias, he felt the same desire that the Tube had filled him with when he had held it six years ago. He was filled with an overhwelming desire to surrender his will, but Tirien had grown stronger during his travels, and with that new strength he was able to resist the allure, but he could not for the life of him completely shut it from his mind.

"...Stop it."

Tirien was distantly aware of Varias speaking, but he shut it out, desperately trying to summon the strength to stand and fight.

That day six years ago flashed through his memory and grief threatened to overtake him. On his left side, the Endless Shining Night of Alaskan Village grew cold against him.

Suddenly Tirien became aware of Varias's voice.

"...For your actions." Varias grinned down at Tirien.

"Surrender!" Varias shouted the last word with an otherworldly authority, and as it fell upon Tirien's ears his right hand shot to the concelead tube. He tore the cloth that had been hiding the dark tube for six years and wrapped his hand around it. It seized his grief over those fallen and threatened to consume him again. Varias grinned.

"Yes, that's it. Lose yourself to the Tube!"

Tirien's knuckles were white as he clenched the Tube. Varias looked on as he struggled against the Tube's dark will, but it was feeding on the pain of so many friends lost. He fell to the ground and was about to surrender when something struck him.

The Tube was feeding on his grief. It had been six years and he had still not come to terms with what he had done- with what the Tube had made him do.

Yes, it was the Tube. Not him. Tirien could never forget what he had done or write it off as "not his fault," but it was not by his will that his friends and family were dead. His grief made a sudden shift into an icy resolve to avenge their deaths. The Tube's darkness still called to him, but Tirien unleashed his own will against it and felt his need for justice pour from him into the Tube. The temptation of servitude faded.

Tirien was now in control of the Tube imbued with the Void.

Varias's smile disappeared as Tirien's eyes flashed from the ground to the hooded man's gaze. Tirien raised Endless Shining Night of Alaskan Village, icy blue flames licking their way from the Tube up his arm and to his shoulder.

"Well, that's never happened before." Varias raised a blade which shimmered the same cold color as Tirien's tube, but not with nearly as much power- for his very life was drawn from the Tube held in Tirien's hand.

Varias shimmered and seemed to be all around Tirien at once, appearing in one place then quickly disappearing to reappear somewhere else. Tirien gripped his Tube tightly and held it in front of him, whispering words of the forgotten tongue as though he spoke it fluently. His breath whispered out in nearly invisible tongues of smoke, circling around the Tube and igniting further the cold flames of Nothingness.

Varias suddenly appeared before Tirien and collapsed to his knees with his weapon clattering to the ground at his side. Blue whisps of smoke were pouring from Varias with each breath, finding their way back to Endless Shining Night of Alaskan Village. Tirien's body shook with the effort it took to draw the power it had been providing to Varias for hundreds of years from the Dark Vagrant. Soon, Varias gasped no more blue smoke, and he collapsed to the ground. Tirien relxed his white-knuckle grip on the Tube and rolled Varias onto his back, pushing back the hood.

Tirien frowned. He looked through the pockets in his own cloak and pulled out an ancient scroll he had discoverd on his travels which depicted the face of the Dark Vagrant. Its owner had not been willing to part with it, but dared not face the wrath borne of Tirien's resolve, and so had relinquished it with much frustration.

Tirien looked back and forth from the scroll to the face of the man before him on the ground.

He peered closely at the Tube in his hand, still glowing softly. This was surely the Endless Shining Night of Alaskan Village.

But where in creation was Varias?

*jealous of Lance's storytelling abilities* xd

The story of "Fierce Winter on the Fields of Street Vendors"

All I would be able to remember in the years following this night would be the fear, and helplessness. I suppose that is what drove me to train the way I did. I strove to be as strong as my savior, the woman who fought for my family despite incredible odds, and managed to still achieve victory over her enemies.

The night of the attack was not extroardinary in any other way. As any other night, my two older brothers and I were tucked into bed. We were not an incredibly wealthy family, but we did possess enough wealth for each of the children to get a bed to themselves. A rarity in that age. My father was a hard working farmer, and despite the small amount of land he owned, he was able to make a good living for his family and we were all happy. I think back on the reasoning behind the attack, and I suppose the biggest reason was the amount of wealth my father was able to possess simply by farming, one of the most simple yet noble of human endeavors, and not by resorting to the "favors" our neighbors needed to get by in these hard times. However, just as my father came in the door of the house to wish us a good night, a knock on the door and a gruff voice demanded entry to our home. The rest of that night is a blur in my mind, a jumbled mess of fierce yelling and fighting as my father and mother tried to defend their family and home. My father was no warrior however, and in a matter of moments he was struck down by a weapon and fell to the floor, dead. My brothers had been listening just as I had and in one swift movement, my eldest brother ran downstairs to help my mother and father, however in a sickening moment was struck down along with my mother. My older brother held me in his arms as we heard the sound of footsteps rush up the stairs. My brother defended me to his last breath, as the two men almost toyed with him, before finally ending his life in one fell strike. As I screamed and cried with fear, and covered my head, waiting for the end, I heard the clear voice of a woman speak to the men. They turned in ammused surprise as they saw the person standing behind them. She was hidden behind her harvesting hat and all I could see was her hand as it casually held the oddest weapon I had ever seen. A large, jade green cardboard tube. She asked in a hushed voice how manly they felt, murdering women and children. They laughed and said that what was a feeble little thing like her going to do to stop them. In an action barly tracebly by human eyes, she struck down one of the men in a fierce thrust to the stomach and swift thrust upwards.

In a moment the other man ran away, leaving his fallen comrade at this mysterious woman's feet. She then proceeded to clean her tube as I stepped out from behind my brother's fallen body. She then removed her hat and I was able to see her face. She was not a young woman, but neither was she old. She possesed a timeless quality. She was also obviously a woman of breeding, no farmer's daughter like myself or my mother. She smiled kindly at me, and asked if I was alright. I only nodded shyly. She smiled back at me and said she would send the authorites to our home, and turned to leave. Despite myself, I told her I wanted to go with her. She turned and looked at me strangely and said not unkindly that she had no use for children. As she walked toward the front door, I followed her. And as she walked outside and into the forest behind my house I also followed her. I think she knew I was following her, despite my attempts to stay hidden, because I now know that her speed was down right leisurely that night and she would never have risked that after a fight like that. So, after awhile, I grew tired and must have fallen asleep as I walked. The next thing I knew, I has awaken next to a fire, as my savior handed me a bowl of rice and crude spoon. As I ate she quietly watched, both me and the surrounding forest. I didn't think at the time that her life was in danger, but of course it always was, and I know it was a great stroke of luck that we were not ambushed and killed that night. As I finished eating, I finally gained the courage to ask who she was. She told me that she is simply one who wishes for change. I knew in an instant when she said that, that this woman was good, and more importantly, I knew I wanted to be with her and learn all I could from her.
This women, my sensei, would be the one to teach me all there was to learn about the way of the cardboard tube samurai, as well as the truth of the world at this time. I would follow her everywhere, as she helped others like myself and together we had numerous adventures. It is from her that I gained my own tube, a sister to her own "Locusts and Herbicide on the Plains of Street Vendors".

((Wow, I will shut up now, sorry about this nice, melodramatic story, but you ask, and I provide. Hope you liked, I plan to add more in the future 3nodding ))

Name: Iruka of the clan Yuywell

Tube: Burning Waters of the Compassion Angel

History: I had always been different from the other children in my village. None, even my own parents, could explain it. While the other girls played house and mother with their simple rag dolls, I wrestled and fought with the boys.

While other girls learned to wear make-up and act as proper ladies, I practiced to near exhaustion with my daggers and staffs. Though I grew my hair long, as was the fashion of the ladies of my village, I refused to be bound by the dresses and skirts they flaunted. These were unpractical to my needs.

I had many friends and was happy, but there was always this nagging feeling that something was missing.

Peace reined in my land, but I longed for the way of the warrior. Despite this, I was known in my village for my compassion and empathy, an inborn gift. In fact, many of my friends jokingly referred to me as the village’s “Angel of Compassion.”

I had heard tales growing up of the fierce Tube Samurai said to walk the lands most distant from my home. I had even dreamt of traveling there one day to find him, to beg him to teach me his ways. But I was stuck in my birthplace, tending fields and helping to raise the village children.

I woke that morning, as any other, before dawn and went behind my house to practice my weapons drills. Word of approaching trouble had me on my guard. After cleaning and returning my daggers to their place in the house, I dressed and went to start the harvest before the heat of the sun could make it unbearable to be outside.

Upon reaching the rice patties, an odd shape at the far end of the field caught my attention. Hand on my work knife, I ran forward to investigate. Floating face up in the waters was a strange man in yellow robes. He looked wounded and was completely knocked out. I saw the Cardboard Tube strapped to his side, and a trill of excitement pulsed through me.

Being too small to carry him all the way back to my home, I fished him from the water and hid him in the bushes until I could return with one of my trusted male friends.

When the warrior awoke later that evening, I had bound his wounds and had a strong soup ready if he was hungry.

He spoke little in the days I spent nursing him back to health. He gave no name, so I took to calling him Dono-san. I dared not brooch the subject of the tube, in fear of angering him. However, once he was strong enough to be on his feet again, I watched, from a distance, as he whirled in drills with it that I could have only dreamed of.

Hoping to catch his attention, I started doing my own drills outside his window. If he did notice, he never said anything.

But as the legends say, trouble follows on the heels of he who bears the tube. In the dead of night, my village was attacked by bandits seeking the wounded warrior under my roof.

Few of the peaceful inhabitants dared to fight back. Fewer still even know how. With my long training, I was a match for most of the bandits, but I was nothing in comparison to Dono-san. His tube was indeed a thing to be feared.

The bandits, seeing this, fled. But not before torching our fields. Even the rice patties caught in the blazing inferno. Bucket brigades were started to try and save the crops. Nothing, however, seemed to quench the flames.

Feeling as if I’d failed my home I ran blindly into the flaming waters of my beloved rice patties. Tears streaked my face as I ran between the flames, not knowing what to do. A voice called out to me, telling me to stop. Apparently, Dono-san followed me.

I turned and faced him. “What am I suppose to do Dono-san? I have failed!” He shook his head at me. “Nonsense child. They were after me and you know that.” I balled my fists at my side. “But I made no effort to hide you were here! I know who you are sir. I knew the danger of helping you.” He’s eyebrow raised. “Danger?” I fell to me knees still crying. “YES! You are a brave and upright man. Many evil people would love nothing more than to see you dead!”

What happened next, I still can not explain. My hand, of it’s own volition, shot into the flames beside me and below the waters they covered. I drew forth a tube, which though wet, burned with an eerie blue flame all it’s own that did not even singe my hand.

Dono-san gazed at the tube. “A great warrior you will make one day, child.” Reaching forward he took it from my hand. The flames instantly went out. Then he handed it back to me. “When the time is right, you will know what to do with this.” Then he walked away into the flames.

I never saw him again, but to this day whenever there is trouble, Burning Water of the Compassion Angel flares with that same eerie blue fire and I know what Tube samurai Dono-san meant.

((sorry it's so long ^__^; I get a bit detailed sometimes.))

Arigato Lance-san

All of your stories are awesome, guys 3nodding

I'll be completely re-writing mine so as not to be quite so ashamed as I am by your storytelling greatness XD

Your story is quite good Tirien. While some details could be useful, there isn't any need to totally trash it and start over again. I think all you need to work on is what your personal goals and thoughts are with your tube training, maybe some of your history before you were taken under the wing of CTS, and maybe a sample battle of your tube.

Plus, I would need your help with my more official story of "Lance's Tale". You and Karen (thinking about Iruka too, unless she wants her own storyline) are included in my adventures, and RPing them out would be very useful and entertaining. Whaddya say?